


hitting on all six

by pumpkinpaperweight



Series: sge 1920s au [5]
Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Blood and Injury, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Strong Language, set after gmtg and just before citm, some... implications lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27741130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpaperweight/pseuds/pumpkinpaperweight
Summary: “Well, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Agatha said. “Much as Hester and Anadil like to posture, you’re far more consistent. You’re hittin’ on all six.”Dot brightened.“You think?”“Sure. Come to expect it, to be honest. You’ve been here longest. Reliable.”She leaned over and squeezed Dot’s arm.“Whatever shit happens, I know I can rely on you, at least.”--mostly set after the events of gmtg. written for the 1 year anniversary of me finishing the original fic!
Relationships: Agatha & Dot (The School for Good and Evil), Agatha/Hester (The School for Good and Evil), Agatha/Tedros (The School for Good and Evil), Dot & Tedros (The School for Good and Evil)
Series: sge 1920s au [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1085841
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	hitting on all six

**Author's Note:**

> please be aware: multiple instances of strong language, gore, blood, and some light nsfw implications are all in this oneshot.

**(December, 1922, New York. The basement that will become Club Avalon.)**

“I  _ TOLD _ YOU TO PUT THEM IN THE FUCKIN’ FIRE!” howled Agatha, half-delirious, lurching up from where she’d had her head against the table. 

“I’M DOIN’ IT!” Hester barked back. She shook Agatha’s good arm. “For how long?”

“Fuck off!”

“How  _ long,  _ Agatha?”

“Are you sure they’re still in there?” asked Dot, stripping Agatha’s bloodied coat off her back and starting to cut away the section of her shirt around the wound. The whole room stank of the sour tang of blood.

“Of course I’m fuckin’  _ sure--” _ Agatha pitched forward again, cutting herself off, losing the little colour she’d regained. Sophie caught her and turned frantically to Dot.

“ _ Dot _ , she’s passed out again!”

“So I can see.” said Dot grimly. 

“What am I doin’ with these?” barked Hester, black eyes huge and flared in her pale face, dutifully holding the tweezers into the flame. Dot grimaced. 

“She wants you to sterilise them, so you can use them to get the bullets out.”

Hester lost even more colour than Agatha, if that was possible. 

“ _ What?  _ I ain’t...”

She looked back down at the fire and trailed off. Dot looked between the two of them, and sighed deeply. 

“I’ll do it.” she held the scissors out to Sophie. “Cut the fabric off her hip, as well.”

Sophie did as she was told, silently. Dot marched over to the bits and pieces that the builders had left behind, and yanked a piece of leather from their toolboxes. She rinsed it briskly under the tap and folded it up, aware of Hester and Sophie staring at her. Without a word, she crossed back to Agatha, prised her mouth open, and shoved it between her teeth. 

“So she doesn’t split her own tongue.” she said. 

Hester and Sophie exchanged terrified glances. Dot ignored them and took a deep breath, trying to focus. She and Agatha had definitely discussed the treatment of gunshot wounds before, but it had  _ not _ been in the context of Agatha herself getting one. Still…

“Once it’s out, we need to wash it--  _ not  _ with alcohol, just with water. In terms of blood loss, I think she might have been lucky. Not hit any major veins or arteries. Then… Sophie, do you have any Vaseline?”

“I… yes, I think so--”

“Good. Get that, and some bandages, so we can dress it.”

Sophie nodded briskly and hurried off, tense and stumbling in her heels. She took the stairs three at a time. 

Dot turned to Hester. 

“Hold her down.”

“...What?”

“You have to.”

Hester stared at her, rabbit in headlights, deer in a trap.

“But--”

She shot a terrified glance in the vague direction of the figure slumped on the table.

If it had been any less of a dire situation, Dot would have been kinder. 

But it was a literal fucking living nightmare.

She marched over and snatched the tongs from Hester. 

“ _ Now.” _

* * *

She did as she was told. And it turned out to be extremely necessary. 

The second Dot so much as nudged the bullet in her hip, Agatha shouted and tried to pull away. Dot grimaced, repositioning her grip on the tongs. 

“I know, love, I’m sorry, it won’t take long--”

It was better just to get it out as fast as possible. The longer she kept these wounds open, the more likely they were to go septic, and  _ then  _ they’d be well and truly done for... 

Dot counted to three, muttered a quick prayer to whatever divinity might be taking an interest in them at that moment, and pulled the bullet out. 

Agatha howled in pain and jolted violently, struggling to arch her back. Hester forced her down flat on the table, arms shaking with the effort of keeping her there. 

Mercifully, it came loose in a spray of blood and splitting skin-- skittering across the table, it pinged onto the floor, and Dot stepped on it to stop it rolling off. She had a vague notion Agatha might need to know the caliber in order to know how to treat the wound. 

Of course, Agatha wasn’t currently in a state to be identifying or treating anything. 

With gritted teeth, Dot wiped her hands clean of the fresh blood welling from the hip wound and shifted her attention to the shoulder. Much more problematic, given it would be harder to hold her down…

But Hester seemed to be anticipating this, and shifted her grip on Agatha’s arms so she could lean on her chest. She was still facing away from Dot, though. 

Deciding not to think on that, Dot gripped the forceps as tightly as she dared, and pulled the bullet.

Agatha screamed again, voice breaking halfway through. Her free hand shot up, clawing at the back of Hester’s jacket. Hester’s arms shuddered.

It hadn’t come out. Yanked partially out of the wound, it had snagged on the skin next to the entry and was trapped halfway removed. 

Dot swore. Hester startled, grabbing Agatha’s good arm and shoving it back down, but Dot could see the way her throat was working. She was shaken, and if she was shaken, she was more likely to let go...

It needed to come out  _ now.  _

“Sorry, Agatha.” mumbled Dot. 

She got hold of it, with both the forceps and her left hand, and  _ yanked _ .

With a sickening  _ crack,  _ it came out. 

Dot bunched her shoulders up, trying to tune out Agatha’s muffled wails, and was grateful when Sophie scurried over with the dressings. As quickly and as carefully as they could, they cleaned and dressed the two wounds. Hester hunched at the side of the table, next to Agatha’s head, and didn’t look at them. 

Tears were dripping on Agatha’s shoulder, and they weren’t her own.

Shaking, Hester dropped her head onto Agatha’s chest, and Dot grimly gathered up the bullets and forceps, finding there was pathetic little she could say in way of comfort. Tentatively, Sophie took the other side of the table, pale and tight-lipped. Her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that tiny white starbursts were appearing on her knuckles.

Dot stood a little apart.

“I’ll find something to use as a stretcher.” she said into the silence. 

Neither sister nor lover responded to her. 

Dot left without another word.

* * *

“Dot.”

In the chair next to Agatha’s bed, Dot jolted from a half-doze, and found Agatha staring at her, gaunt in the half-light of the morning.

Well, at least she was awake. But--

“Jesus.” Dot said. “You look awful.”

Agatha barely heard her. 

“Can you get me a drink?” she asked hoarsely, rubbing her pinched face with her free hand. “And somethin’ to write with.”

“ _ Write?” _

“Yeah. Gotta send some letters. It’s alright, they didn’t get my dominant arm.”

Dot gawked at her aghast. 

“You nearly died, and you’re wantin’ to conduct  _ business?” _

“It’s been, what--” Agatha cast a vague, unfocused look at the clock. “Seven or eight hours since I was shot, and news gets around real fast. Need to convince people that I’m alright, else they’re gonna start losin’ confidence. Might even go to Rhian. Or someone will start a rumour I’m dead and  _ that  _ ain’t exactly good for business, is it?”

With unsteady hands, she started unwrapping the dressing around her shoulder in what was clearly meant to be a matter-of-fact sort of way. Dot stared at her. Agatha looked up and caught her eye. 

“Are you gettin’ me a drink or not?” 

“What is  _ wrong _ with you?” demanded Dot. Shaking her head incredulously, she rose and lumbered over to Agatha’s desk. “What are you made of, concrete?”

Agatha wasn’t listening, peering at the wound in her shoulder. She probed it experimentally with a finger. 

“Don’t do that.” sighed Dot, rifling under the desk for brandy. 

“It don’t hurt.”

“Because we gave you a lifetime supply of painkillers, sap.” Dot tossed a pile of paper and a pen onto the bed and went to find a glass in the bathroom. “Write your letters before they wear off. Or kill you. Who you writin’ to?”

“Suppliers, I guess. Keep them in check.”

Dot handed Agatha the glass of brandy, and winced as she threw it all back in one gulp. Despite her brisk manner, she clearly wasn’t right. There was a slightly fevered look in her eye that suggested to Dot she was going to make a mess of this.

They couldn’t afford to make a mess of this. 

“I’ll do it for you.” said Dot. 

“What?” said Agatha inattentively, re-securing her bandage.

“I’ll go an’ see your suppliers.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” snapped Agatha.

“Boss, look at yourself.” 

“I’m  _ fine.”  _

“You’re not.” said Dot gently. A murderous glance was shot her way and she turned steelier. “You ain’t even seen Hester yet, or Sophie, and you’re writin’ to suppliers. No, I got a better idea.”

“I can do this alone, Dot.” said Agatha sharply. Dot watched her eyes focus, unfocus, and refocus again. She scrawled something barely legible. 

“I’ll go to them.” said Dot. “I know where they are.”

“Great, you can deliver these.”

“ _ Boss.”  _ hissed Dot, getting frustrated. Agatha was usually firm, but never completely uncompromising. A side effect of the wound? Maybe, but Dot thought it was more than that; a brutal reminder of her precarious position. 

“Dot, it ain’t necessary for you to help--”

“If we didn’t help, Agatha, you would be  _ dead.”  _ snapped Dot. 

Agatha’s hand paused on the paper. For a second, Dot was sure that she was going to lash out, and prepared to have an argument with a half-dead teenager a year younger than herself--

Agatha sank back against her pillows, suddenly looking alarmingly hollow. 

“If I dictate--” she began, but it was unnecessary, because Dot had been hoping for this. 

“You an’ I both know that they  _ will  _ assume you dead.” she said, taking the paper from Agatha and sitting down at her desk. “So, what are we gonna do about it?”

Agatha looked narrowly at her.

* * *

Agatha’s three main suppliers were all the same. Middle-aged, reticent, extravagant, wildly arrogant. Effective, but decidedly dislikable, and Dot wouldn’t trust them as far as she could throw them. Actually, she trusted them less than that. 

This evening, she was shown into a plush, private parlour on the top floor of the Wardwell Hotel, a luxury establishment purchased as an investment by Agatha’s mother-- so, now owned by Agatha. 

The audacity. 

“I’m from Lady A.” said Dot, before they could say anything, watching smoke from one of the men’s cigars curl in a lazy coil towards the ceiling. She didn’t know their names. She didn’t much care to. 

They stared at her. One of them laughed. 

“Callis’s girl? She’s dead.” 

“Dead women don’t send people places.”

“ _ Women.”  _ snorted the grey-haired man. “She’s barely a girl. But fine. If she ain’t already dead, she will be, soon. What does she want, as her dying wish?”

“To assure you that nothin’ has changed.” said Dot coolly. 

They laughed, all three of them this time.

“You’ve come at a good time, doll.” said the white-suited man. “We were just discussin’ what happens next. All of New York knows about what happened last night. We were wonderin’ if it might be high time to throw our lot in with the victors.”

“The victors?” said Dot mildly. “Rhian didn’t tell you about his brother’s shattered kneecap?”

Smiles faltered. 

“...what?” said the woman. Dot snorted. 

“Boss shot Japeth in the leg as she went down. Perfect shot to his kneecap. Rhian had to carry him home. Of course, he wouldn’t  _ tell  _ you that. Coverin’ up weaknesses. Not how  _ my  _ boss works. Transparency is real important, y’know.”

She dropped an envelope onto the table. After a short pause, the suppliers leaned forwards...

It was addressed to the three of them. By name. 

Glances were exchanged. 

“What’s this?” snorted the grey haired man, but Dot caught the nervous warble, low in his tone. “Invite to her funeral? They buryin’ her next to her old woman?”

“Open it and find out.” said Dot.

The man in the white suit did. There were three sheets of paper, one for each of them.

They were handed around. They were read.

Silence.

“...how does she know that?” said the woman faintly. 

Dot did not respond. 

“I said  _ how does she know that?”  _ shouted the woman, looking up sharply.

_ You should be asking how do  _ **_I_ ** _ know that,  _ thought Dot. Agatha wasn’t the spy. Dot was. And Dot had still been paying attention, even when Hester and Sophie weren’t. 

“You ain’t hard to find.” said Dot sweetly. “Drivin’ everywhere in your big noisy hayburner. Parties. Hotels. Clubs. People’s houses.  _ Men’s  _ houses.”

“You been trackin’ me!”

“Nah. Just talkin’ to people.” she smiled brightly. “Hope your senator husband doesn’t find out!”

She reddened furiously--

“What about this?” demanded the white-suited man, slapping the paper with a broad hand. “My father ain’t gonna cut me off!”

“I ain’t so sure.” said Dot. “Ain’t he chums with the Vice-President? Don’t think he’d wanna risk the damage to his standin’, if his son was found to be dealin’ with coffin varnish.”

He stared at her.

“Anyway,  _ our  _ Boss makes it her business to know about  _ her  _ suppliers--”

“This is  _ blackmail!”  _ cried the last man indignantly, cutting her off. 

Dot turned on him, eyebrows raised. 

“Aw.” she said. “Careful. You almost sounded like you had moral concerns, then.”

“This is--”

“What you get if you’re saps enough to plot against her in her own fuckin’ hotel?”

“This is ridiculous.” hissed the woman, flushing red. “You’re a bunch of kids. We answered to her  _ mother _ , not to her. There’s no reason we should carry on workin’ for her. You should be in  _ college _ , not runnin’ a bootleggin’ empire.”

Maybe. But it was too late for that, now. They were in deep. 

“And  _ you _ should step in line.” said Dot coldly, no longer amused.

“Or what?” snapped White Suit.  _ “What?” _

Calmly, Dot put out her hand and dropped two bullets onto the table.

They still had blood on them.

_ Or next time, you won’t be so lucky.  _

* * *

“Done!” said Dot brightly, barging the door of Agatha’s room open and hanging her coat up. 

Hester, curled at the end of Agatha’s bed like a cat, looked up.

“Done what?”

“Job for the Boss.” said Dot calmly, undoing her tie. 

“Why didn’t you send me?” demanded Hester, head whipping over to where Agatha was concealed behind the paper.

“Required subtlety, doll.” said Agatha. Hester opened her mouth to argue--

“Or maybe I wanted you here, with me.” followed up Agatha, before she could get a word out. 

Hester went slightly pink and fell silent. 

Sophie, sitting on Agatha’s desk, looked up.

“Still don’t trust them.”

“Me neither.” said Dot. “But for now, they’re in line.”

“I’m intendin’ on gettin’ some more.” said Agatha. “More trustworthy ones. There’s a couple of Mother’s old ones who’ve been lyin’ low, I’ll bring them back. You’ll find me more, won’t you, Dot?”

She looked over the top of the paper at Dot. 

Dot smiled at her.

“Sure will, Boss."

* * *

After that, Agatha never shirked on giving her a job again. 

Hester was her rabid dog, Anadil her intimidator, but a Coven was three, and Dot was the third. She was often forgotten. She didn’t mind.  _ She  _ knew she was there, and there  _ first _ , at that. 

It made things easier. She was a spy and a blackmailer, so it did well to be forgotten. She didn’t always enjoy it, and it meant that she was constantly disparaged, but in the grand scheme of things… it was better this way. Even years later, after the chaotic raid on Bartleby’s, where she’d almost lost the spy and Tedros had almost broken his ankle, Agatha hadn’t minded. 

“So what?” she’d said when Dot had sidled into her office and immediately started spouting apologies. “I caught him. It don’t matter. To be frank, I wasn’t expectin’ you to think much of it. Hester gettin’ to you that much?”

“She’s been worse, recently.” muttered Dot. “More bitin’.”

“Mm.” Agatha drummed her fingers on the table. “I know what you mean.”

And she did. Her breakup with Hester-- if you could call a confusing collapse of a never-defined relationship a  _ breakup-- _ had been excruciating. 

“Teddy convinced me to talk to you.” said Dot, after a bit. 

“Meredith?” Agatha snorted. “You takin’ advice from the flapper boy, now?”

“He’s pretty clever.”

“Not clever enough to know about his murderous half brothers, but sure, maybe his talents lie elsewhere.”

She took her hat off and pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly weary. Dot followed the stiff movement of her arm and grimaced. For all their best efforts, the gunshot wounds had still healed oddly.

“Well, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Agatha said. “Much as Hester and Anadil like to posture, you’re far more consistent. You’re hittin’ on all six.”

Dot brightened. 

“You think?”

“Sure. Come to expect it, to be honest. You’ve been here longest. Reliable.”

She leaned over and squeezed Dot’s arm. 

“Whatever shit happens, I know I can rely on you, at least.”

* * *

**(November 1926, New York, Club Avalon)**

And a lot of shit  _ had  _ happened since. But Dot was still reliable. 

“Stop standin’ like that.” said Dot. 

“What?” Tedros stopped halfway through putting an earring in.

“Turnin’ your knee in.”

Beatrix jumped in; 

“You look like a nervous deer.”

They both knew full well why he was doing it; trying to hide the scar on his shin, concealing it behind his other leg. It wasn’t going to work.

“A  _ sexy  _ deer.” said Tedros, securing his earring and trying to play along. Beatrix eyed him.

“No, Teddy, just a deer. You haven’t put your makeup on yet.”

Dot wouldn’t have gone as harsh as that, but she agreed with the sentiment. 

Tedros frowned and went to rifle furiously through the outfits in the wardrobe. Dot watched a pile of forlorn, sparkly rejects slowly grow around his black-stockinged feet. 

“What’s wrong with these?” she asked, leaning down to pick up something silver and sparkly. “This one’s nice. You like this one.”

Tedros muttered something and feverishly continued to flip through options. Beatrix followed his progress, putting straps back on hangers and straightening askew coats.

“Cmon, wear this.” said Dot, shaking the silver number so that the embellishments jingled. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s short.” Tedros mumbled. 

Dot dropped her arms, frowning. 

“They’re  _ all  _ short. They’re dancer’s-- oh.”

Dancer’s outfits. Right. Dot had been party to the many failed attempts Tedros had made at dancing, including the one where he’d nearly brained himself on the dresser.

Tedros didn’t say anything. 

“You think people are gonna expect you to dance if you go out in one of them?” asked Dot. “And you wanna cover your leg up, too?”

Tedros made a vaguely affirmative noise and tried to choose the red one he’d worn every night this week. Beatrix grabbed his arm.

“Teddy, come on. You gotta change it up. You can get some longer ones tomorrow, but for now, at least wear something you  _ like.” _

He hesitated. Dot prayed he’d relent; trying to reconstruct his confidence after the Foxwood incident was a torturously slow process. Beatrix had compared it to trying to build a sandcastle in the surf. The second they got anywhere, something else came and knocked it over. 

But confidence and vanity were two slightly different things, something that Dot was well enough acquainted with Tedros and Sophie to know. 

She delivered the killing blow. 

“Boss likes this one.” she said idly. “Reckon she’d agree with us.”

Tedros’s eyes shifted slightly. Dot counted to three.

“I mean,” he said. “I do like that one.”

Dot and Beatrix looked at one another.

They looked away before either of them could laugh.

But as she successfully ushered Tedros, in silver and black, onto the stage ten minutes later, she was herself confronted. 

Agatha’s hand dropped onto her shoulder. Dot, who hadn’t noticed her approach, turned in surprise. 

“Got a job for you.” she said. 

“Can’t you go?” sighed Dot. “I was gonna get blotto and throw up in someone’s car.”

“No.” said Agatha. She twitched her hand in the direction of Tedros, who was peering hopefully in their direction. 

“He can barely see you.” sniffed Dot. Agatha stared at her and she sighed. “What is it?”

“Actually, you don’t need to leave the club. I just need you to sit with specific people. We have some…  _ prestigious  _ visitors.”

Dot raised an eyebrow, and decided she probably needed to put her hat on. 

(She did.)

Judges. Not only that, but the judges presiding over a rather…  _ high-profile  _ case.

“I trust this won’t get out.” said the weedier man to Nicola, eyes jerking nervously around the chaotic club. “In the context of the case, it looks rather bad to be the patron of a rival club… or, well, any club at all.”

More like  _ the  _ rival club, but they didn’t know that.

“It ain’t gonna.” said Nicola, eyes narrowed under her hat. “Not unless you start talkin’ about it.” 

She was playing _bad cop_ (how ironic) in the absence of Agatha, who had been tasked with making sure that _under_ _no circumstances_ did Tedros notice that the judges he was to testify in front of were here. They had decided he probably was aware who they were, raised in high society as he had been, and therefore no one was taking any risks. 

“I thought they were charged with more than just bootlegging?” asked Beatrix innocently.

“Oh, of course.” scoffed the second judge. “Kidnapping, murder and  _ attempted _ murder, bribery, perjury, gang involvement… the list goes on.”

“So surely, it’s the gallows.” said Beatrix. The two men exchanged glances. 

“Well… possibly.” said the first man nervously. “We can’t make a judgement until we’ve heard all the evidence, obviously.”

Dot knew how this went. Rich and powerful white men didn’t go to the gallows. A couple of years in prison, if that. Bribery got you a long way. 

Which is why Agatha was trying to wring as much information out of them as possible, so she could do it back. Dot was working on finding out who’d been called for jury duty.

Corruption every which way, wasn’t there? 

“Obviously.” said Beatrix, clearly playing dumb. “But they killed Arthur Pendragon, didn’t they? That’s bad.”

Dot concealed a snort at the understatement. Nicola rolled her eyes.

“...yes, it certainly looks that way.” said the beefier judge. “A bad business. Arthur was a good man.”

It was Dot’s turn for derision. Arthur hadn’t been exactly  _ evil,  _ but calling him a good man was a stretch. 

“You knew him?” asked Nicola. 

“Yes, yes. Met his son Tedros a few times, too. Poor lad. Not much has been seen of him since that nasty business.”

Dot risked the tiniest of glances over at Tedros, draped over a table, and nearly laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it all. The first judge must have caught the spasm in her face, because he turned his attention to her. 

“Do you know him?”

“Oh-- uh, yes, actually.” said Dot quickly. “Our fathers were friends. Sheriff Nottingham?”

“Ah! You must be Dorothy, then?”

Beatrix snorted. Dot stomped on her foot. 

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Ah, pleased to meet you--” they shook hands-- “I trust Tedros is well, now?”

“Yes, he’s doing a little better.” said Dot, pinching her own thigh so hard she was sure to draw blood. “Um, he’s… regaining confidence.”

There was a crash as someone fainted at a table near the stage. Tedros caught a diamond necklace thrown to him.

Beatrix turned away to order another drink, shaking with the effort of not laughing. Even Nicola bit her lip. The judges seemed none the wiser. 

“Ah, with walking on his leg again?”

To Dot’s alarm, Tedros was getting a lot closer on his usual tour of the club. She’d hoped he’d not bother-- sometimes he didn’t-- but clearly he was in the mood to make a couple of newsies comatose, tonight. 

“...yeah.” said Dot as a couple of boys lifted Tedros down from one of the nearest tables. “Walking.”

Nicola tried to kick a sniggering Beatrix, missed, and kicked Dot by accident. Clearly her watering eyes were mistaken for emotion, because the judges rushed to sympathise with her. 

“Oh I know my dear, a terrible shame.” said the weedy judge. “First his mother running away, then his father, then he was kidnapped himself... Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s too much for him to handle, when it comes down to it. I shouldn’t like to face my kidnappers again.”

Dot nodded vaguely, glancing desperately at a rapidly approaching Tedros, frantically prodding Beatrix under the table for a distraction--

A hand shot out from the table next to theirs and snagged Tedros by his pearls, distracting him enough to mean he skipped their table entirely. Dot fully expected Tedros to start a fight, considering how precious he was about that specific set of pearls, but he didn’t-- he beamed and looked all too pleased to have been grabbed, practically hurling himself onto the table. 

Then Dot noticed the tattooed wrist and realised Agatha had caught him. 

All three women sagged in relief.

* * *

“Hi, Daddy.” Dot said brightly the next morning. “You have a good day, yesterday?”

The Sheriff eyed her suspiciously from where he was sitting at the kitchen counter, nursing a coffee.

“You’re up early.”

“Got errands to run.” Dot suspected her father hadn’t even been to bed at all. He spent half his life shouting at incompetent private investigators down the phone and the other half swearing he was going to catch  _ that bastard bootlegger Hood  _ alone.

There was a reason he thought Dot worked as a secretary.

Still, the Sheriff seemed to find this excuse acceptable. 

“Got called for jury duty. The Sader brothers’ case. Heard your friend is testifying.”

Dot was glad she was facing away, because the grin that spread across her face wasn’t subtle in the slightest. 

“Oh, really? Yeah, Teddy is. Real nervous about it.”

The Sheriff grunted in agreement.

“Don’t blame him. You with him last night, then?”

“Yeah, we were tryna help with his case.” Not technically untrue. “Goin’ back around this morning. We’re gonna get coffee and stuff.”

She was actually going to see Agatha, to report on last night, but she did intend to call in on Tedros on the way back, provided he hadn’t gone off on one of his compulsive 6am exercise routines. Plus, it was a good cover.

The Sheriff nodded. 

“Yeah. Yeah, good idea. Looks tense as hell every time I see him in the papers.”

“Getting shot will do that to you.” said Dot grimly, thinking of both Tedros and Agatha. 

The Sheriff peered at her.

“Ain’t you gonna date him at some point? Always out with him, aren’t you?”

“Teddy?” Dot snorted.  _ “No.  _ We’re just friends. Besides, he’s stuck on someone else.”

“Is he? Gwen never mentioned that.”

Dot turned to see Marian coming through the back door, clutching a bag of pastries from the bakery down the road. She always took it upon herself to make sure they had actual food in the house, not just coffee and bacon, and seemed to be very well acquainted with the sleeping habits of the Sheriff. Or rather the lack of them.

Dot shrugged. 

“I guess he’s not tellin’ many people about it.”

In reality, Guinevere knew about Agatha, but tended not to mention it. Innocent questions like  _ how’s your girlfriend?  _ would have to be answered with things like _ she’s well, she ordered a hit on a rival bootlegger and we went to lunch.  _ And that was just awkward.

“Well, take some of these if you’re seeing him.” said Marian, piling pastries into a smaller bag for her. “I bet neither of you have had breakfast, yet.”

She was right. They hadn’t.

Sometimes it was nice just to be normal.

* * *

Dot got to Agatha’s apartment by 6am, expecting her to already be awake. It was still dark, November as it was, but like the Sheriff, she slept lightly and kept bizarre hours, and sometimes didn’t go to bed at all. Whether that was work, tension, constant vigilance, pain from her shoulder, or a combination of all of them, Dot had never been sure. 

She knocked lightly and waited, fairly sure that was enough to wake her up, if she was still in bed. There was a thud from within and some scuffling, but no answer. Dot decided she was probably ignoring her, thinking she was Sophie coming to bug her, and knocked again. 

“Boss. I brought breakfast.”

Still no admittance. Dot sighed deeply, knowing full well she could hear her. 

“If you don’t let me in, I’m just gonna shout, and then--”

The door was yanked open so fast that Dot nearly fell over. 

“Don’t  _ shout.” _ hissed Agatha, half-dressed in an unbuttoned shirt and slacks.

And liberally covered in lipstick marks. Chest, neck, collarbones. 

Dot gawked at her. 

Agatha made the world’s most half-hearted effort at buttoning her shirt up. She spat on her hand and made an even worse attempt at scrubbing one off her neck. 

It did not work.

A pause. 

“And here we were, thinking he was underconfident.” said Dot, in awe.

Agatha wiped her pink fingers on her trousers and swung the door open bad-humouredly. 

“I haven’t showered yet. Get in, you bastard. Give me one of those croissants.”

“Daddy’s on jury duty for Rhian and Japeth’s trial.” said Dot instantly, deciding to change the subject as she handed her the bag and followed her inside. 

Agatha stopped at the kitchen door and turned, eyebrows raised. 

_ “Really?”  _

“Yeah. He knows we’re friends and I’ve been heapin’ on the sympathy for ages, so hopefully we’ve got at least one  _ guilty _ vote.”

“Good.” mused Agatha, tipping the food onto the counter and helping herself. “What did you say to the judges last night?”

“Bea played dumb, spun it so it looked like everyone’s expectin’ the gallows.”

“That ain’t gonna happen.”

“I know. But it’s extertin’ pressure, I suppose. They were real nervous about bein’ where they were. And they knew Teddy. Said they’d met him before.”

“So that’s why you all looked so especially terrified when he was over that side.” snorted Agatha. “They didn’t recognise him?”

“No. And he didn’t see them?”

“Not as far as I know. He didn’t say anythin’.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d been doin’ much  _ talkin’.” _

Agatha ignored her, putting the coffee pot on the stove. Dot moved on;

“Tried to look pitiful, said I knew Teddy an’ he wasn’t havin’ the best time. They were sympathetic.”

“Emotional manipulation.” yawned Agatha. “Effective.”

She turned on the radio and Dot sat down at the counter.

“It looks like they’re feelin’ bad for Teddy.” she mused. “Maybe he ought to ham it up more. But I don’t wanna suggest it to him. He’s a bit… _precarious_ at the moment, ain’t he?”

“Hester said the same thing.” said Agatha. “Perhaps I’ll pitch it in a couple days. He’s got enough influence in his father’s circles to mean he could probably cause an absolute media storm, if he wanted.”

“Can’t imagine he’d want to, though.” sighed Dot, liberally pouring jam onto her breakfast. 

Agatha grunted in agreement and took the coffee pot off the heat. Dot sat in silence for a bit, working through everything-- 

So she was startled by the sound of the shower turning on somewhere within, followed by a very familiar voice singing along to the jazz song currently on the radio. 

“Forget what I just said.” said Dot. “He’s so peppy. He’s like a cartoon character, and I hate him.”

Agatha laughed. Dot watched her for a while, deciding she looked a lot healthier than she’d looked for a long time. Less sallow, less pinched. Of course, she’d never look as bad as she had when she’d been shot, but…

With some difficulty, she yanked herself out of that train of thought, and changed the subject.

“He was mutterin’ yesterday about wantin’ longer outfits.” she said, helping herself to coffee. “We had to force him to wear that silver thing.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. 

“Why?”

The shower shut off and Dot lowered her voice.

“Somethin’ about not dancin’ anymore. And tryin’ to hide the scarring.”

She’d decided not to tell Agatha about Tedros’s failed attempts at dancing. Something told her that her promise not to tell anyone had extended to Agatha as well, for whatever reason. It seemed pointless; she’d probably find out on her own at some point. But Dot wasn’t going to be the one to test that theory.

“Oh.” Agatha frowned, then leaned over and noted something on a scrap piece of paper. “Alright.”

Dot watched her, unimpressed.

“Wish you’d buy  _ me _ fancy shit.” she said. “Do  _ I _ have to sleep with you to get a new pair of shoes? I’ll do it, I will--”

Agatha choked on her coffee, sprayed half of it across the table, and started coughing. Dot cackled. 

“You know--” Agatha started coughing again and Dot finished her sentence for her. 

“Yes, I  _ know  _ he’s not seducin’ you to try and get his hands on sparkly shit, given he got plenty of scratch from Arthur’s will--” 

“Or maybe I  _ am.” _ Tedros flung open the door in a robe that clearly wasn’t his (it was far too boring), water from his wet hair running in rivulets down his jaw. “How should you know?”

Dot snorted. 

“Because you get embarrassed any time it’s brought up?”

Tedros ignored her, wedging himself on the stool beside her, dripping water onto the kitchen floor. 

“You look weird without makeup.” said Dot. 

“Shut up.” said Tedros, wedging a cinnamon roll into his mouth. 

“Just an observation. You appear to have left most of it on Agatha.”

“Wha’?” Tedros looked across at Agatha-- “Oh. Um--”

He went scarlet and looked away, shuffling across the kitchen to get the tea bags. Agatha and Dot politely did not laugh, but it was only a matter of time before one of them broke--

“I’ll go and shower.” Agatha headed briskly for the door, trying to avoid Dot’s eye.

Tedros abruptly changed the subject.

“Saw those judges last night.” he said, retrieving a cat-printed mug from the cupboard. “The ones presiding over Rhian’s case.”

Agatha froze at the door. Dot whipped over to her, startled.

“Uh.” said Dot. “You weren’t... supposed to.”

Agatha drew an aggressive line across her throat, Dot mouthed a frantic  _ what was I supposed to say?,  _ Agatha cast around furiously for something  _ to  _ say--

“Yeah, I figured.” said Tedros, examining his chipped nail polish. “Well, I did. I know all the regulars, so I could tell there were new fellas in that night. Went lookin’ for them. Noble effort at tryin’ to stop me seein’, though.”

Dot strained for any sign of tension in his tone, trying to work out if he was annoyed or not. Agatha watched him narrowly from the doorway, likely doing the same thing.

“...and?” she prompted.

Tedros blinked at them, turning back towards them.

“And what? I just said I saw them.”

There was a jingling noise and Reaper padded inside. Dot, who was sure he didn’t wear a collar, frowned at Agatha, who pressed her lips together. 

Tedros glanced briefly at him-- then looked back.

“Little  _ shit! _ That’s my earring!”

Agatha flattened herself against the doorjamb as Tedros slammed his mug down and dove after the cat, who shot out of the room like hell was after him. 

“Love a peaceful mornin’.” she remarked dryly as a crash reverberated from her office and Tedros shrieked in half indignation, half pain.

“How much did he overhear of that conversation?” hissed Dot, the cat not really on her mind. Agatha frowned. 

“I don’t know.”

“If he could hear the radio, surely--” another crash-- “--surely he could hear us talkin’ about him.”

Agatha shrugged. 

“So? I would’ve said it to his face if you weren’t so damn scared of upsettin’ him. I told him he was actin’ weird last night.”

Dot looked doubtfully at her. 

“You’re so  _ frank.”  _

Agatha smiled at her. 

“It’s the best way forward.”

“Not for me.”

“No, not for you.” agreed Agatha. “Spies ain’t straightforward.”

She sat back down at the counter. 

“Regardless of how much of it Meredith heard--”

“BASTARD CAT--”

“--I appreciate the information.” finished Agatha. “And the dedication to givin’ it to me so early.”

“You oughta check with Bea and Nicola as well.” warned Dot. “They might have more to tell you.”

“I will.” dismissed Agatha. She smiled at her. “Still thorough after all these years, ain’t you?”

“I gotta be. No attention to detail in Hester and Anadil.” sighed Dot. 

“And how.” snorted Agatha. 

Dot did not respond. Agatha frowned. 

“I’m tryin’ to pay you a compliment, Dorothy.”

Dot looked at her. 

“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

They knocked their mugs together in salute and sat in silence, drinking coffee and listening to Tedros fight Reaper. Dot glanced at the bullet scar in Agatha’s shoulder, still an ugly indent, even after five years, and wondered if either of the wounds would ever heal properly. 

Agatha caught the look. 

“They’re better, now.” she said. 

“Not  _ good,  _ though.”

“You worry too much.” said Agatha dismissively. “And I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary.”

Dot wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t say anything, and they sat together until Tedros burst back in, clutching his earring, with several long scratches down his arm. 

“I hate your cat.”

“You shouldn’t have taken it out, in here.” said Agatha. “You know he loves playin’ with them.”

_ “You  _ took it out!” said Tedros indignantly. 

“Shouldn’t have let me take it out, then.”

Tedros wheeled furiously to Dot.

“Dot, back me up--”

_ “Fuck _ no, I’m not gettin’ involved in whatever you were doin’ last night!”

An aggrieved Reaper came to get sympathy from Agatha, and Tedros went off in a huff to retrieve his tea...

But because she was a good spy, Dot noticed him eyeing the headline of that morning’s paper. 

**_Court Date Set For Gangster Brothers' Trial._ **

Hm.

Maybe they’d been wrong to worry, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> and then tedros passes out on the stand and we go into caught in the middle and ward eight lmao. Happy GMTG day! It's been a year since I finished the main fic, so I thought it would be nice to write something to celebrate! I realised I could have elaborated on Dot more than I have, so I made this one her-centric. I know the timeline in the oneshots is weird as hell lmao, the start of this is just before ASTGO and the rest just after GMTG, if that helps. I did make a shitty little timeline for myself if you wanna see it shjsjs. also apologises for the gory psuedo-surgery lmao. it'll never be REALLY bad simply because I myself want to cry/pass out when confronted with hospital stuff but like... yeah sorry shdjs


End file.
